


Broken and Tainted

by shoelessmoose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Fluff, M/M, NSFW, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 06:49:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1769593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoelessmoose/pseuds/shoelessmoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean sets out to kill Abaddon alone, Sam takes a walk down memory <br/>lane while investigating werewolves in California, and Castiel meets <br/>someone halfway across the world through the internet.</p><p> </p><p>C A S T;<br/>Jensen Ackles as Dean Winchester<br/>Jared Padalecki as Sam Winchester<br/>Misha Collins as Castiel<br/>Alaina Huffman as Abaddon<br/>Danneel Harris Ackles as Rylee Jackson<br/>Dylan O’ Brien as Colton<br/>Mandy Moore as Jenna Moore Wyatt</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken and Tainted

**Author's Note:**

> This was a challenge I did where I had to include specific requests all in one fic. It was difficult to keep with the continuity, so hopefully there's not any major holes.

S U R F S I D E , T E X A S

The quick tapping of knuckles against wood startled Dean out of his sleep. He immediately regretted jolting out of bed so quickly, still feeling the effects of the alcohol he had consumed until around four o’ clock that morning. His green eyes squinted against the light pouring through the motel window. He pulled his gun out, approaching the peephole and peering through it. There was a red headed woman standing on the other side adorned in a Seabreeze Motel uniform. Dean sighed, tucking the gun into the back of his jeans before opening the door.

“I guess I forgot to put up my sign,” Dean mumbled, as he looked over the maid. She would have been just his type if it weren’t for his pounding headache. “You ca’ go on to the next room. I’ll take care a’ my mess.” But the little red head didn’t seem to hear what he was saying.

“Do you own a classic Impala?” she raised an eyebrow at him, hoping she had found the right motel room. Dean’s brows furrowed together inquisitively as he nodded.

“Yeah, why?” He glanced past the red head, just as she bit her lips and looked warily at his car in the parking lot. It was adorned with crusty eggs, cooking in the heat. Suddenly his blood was boiling and he shoved past the maid, startling her. She straightened her clothing and followed him out to the car. “Son of a biiiiiiitch!” he screamed, looking at his grotesquely decorated baby. “Who did this?!” He spun on the maid, pointing a finger in her face.

“I… I don’t know. Sir, please don’t point in my face. I just came to let you know that your vehicle had been vandalized. It was probably some kids at the high school.” Dean rolled his eyes, only just then realizing he was still in his boxers, morning wood clearly visible.

“Right… uh… thank ya’, ma’am.” He walked past her, heading back to his room and slamming the door shut. “Fucking beautiful,” he said to himself as he cupped his face in his hands. The police scanner echoed through the room, pulling Dean from his thoughts.

“We’ve got another shooting at the mall – man in military uniform. All units report.” Dean rolled his eyes, grabbing his suit and pulling the pieces on. He hustled into the bathroom, splashing some water on his face and then brushing his teeth. This was the way Dean started most of his mornings lately -- hooker baths. Lifting his shirt, he rolled on some deodorant, catching a glimpse of the mark on his arm. He cringed at the thought of the task at hand, yet something inside of him had his heart racing with anticipation.

Grabbing his bag he walked out the door and got into his car, grimacing in disgust. There was no time to stop at the car wash; he would have to clean his baby later. He was rolling down the street, going at least ten over the speed limit toward the mall when his phone rang. He flipped it open, not bothering to look at the caller ID.

"This is Dean," he answered, his voice gruff, eyes focused on the road.

“What happened to your car, Dean?” Blue eyes peered at the stubbly-faced hunter, concern evident on his face. Dean exhaled.

“Hello, Dean," the smooth voice spoke through the phone. Dean's lips turned up in a smile, a bit of life finally finding his eyes for the first time since he had awoken.

"Cas," he responded, trying not to sound breathy. "Any luck on Gadreel?" Business as usual. 

“I can’t pinpoint him… it’s… strange,” he started, “And I’ve still got angels trying to pinpoint me… I had to kill another brother just this morning. It’s dangerous out there…” Cas trailed off for a moment before returning his attention to his favorite soldier. “And your quest for Abaddon?”

Dean shook his head. “I keep thinking she’s nearby. All these army boys are getting possessed and shooting up places. But she’s got to be giving the orders from afar. I just can’t… put my finger on her.” The silence on the other end of the line was deafening as Dean chewed his lower lip in nervous anticipation.

"And the mark?" Castiel tried to sound as nonchalant as he could, but Dean could hear the anger in his words. He sighed through the phone.

"I'm fine," he grunted. "You know I had to, Cas. So don't go giving me that high and mighty speech, okay?"

“And you know I don’t approve,” Cas retorted quickly. Dean sighed, pressing the gas pedal harder. “I have to go see Chelsea. Dean… be careful.” And just like that he was gone. Who the hell —? Dean tossed the phone into the empty passenger seat and gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He arrived at the shopping mall to see the army boy in cuffs, crying and swearing that he didn’t do anything. He felt pity for the boy, but he knew he was already too late to catch the demon. Oh well, he would just have to question some people.

 

L A K E A R R O W H E A D , C A L I F O R N I A

“Thanks for meeting me here, Garth. I wasn’t sure who else to call.” Garth approached the abnormally tall man with shoulder length hair, raising an eyebrow. He had grown out a beard and had dark bags under his eyes. His smile was vapid, not connecting with his eyes. Garth took Sam’s hand, shaking it, before pulling him into a hug. Handshakes just weren’t Garth’s style. Sam chuckled lightly.

“You look like shit, man. Ever heard of a barber shop?” Garth joked, patting Sam on the shoulder. Sam laughed, although he wasn’t actually amused. He didn’t need to be reminded of his state of well-being. He was waiting on the other shoe to drop. The questions would come flooding any moment. Garth was the “talk about it” type. Sure, Sam had been at one point. But that was so long ago it seemed another lifetime. He was aged well beyond his years.

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe next week. Look, man. There’s a pack here… and I’m not exactly sure how they fit in. There’s been werewolf type killings around here, but they act kinda like your pack does… did.” Garth averted his eyes, staring out across the lake. He didn’t want to think about his all but dissipated pack. “I tried talking to them, but obviously – being a hunter, I don’t have much pull in the community.” Garth nodded, forcing a smile onto his face.

“You’ve got a friend in me, pal,” he said. “Take me to the leader.” Sam smiled and gave Garth the address. “I’m gonna go check for links between the vics. Call me if you get anything.” Garth nodded and departed from Sam.

As Sam headed into the motel room to review the case files, he picked up his cell phone, lingering over Dean’s name in the contacts. He wanted to speak with the guy, but so much animosity was held between them that the thought of Dean’s voice actually made him want to hurl. He slid the phone onto the table and pulled a beer from the mini-fridge. He plopped down on the bed with Anthony Chase’s file, perusing the contents for any link to the other three victims.

A picture fell out of the file, catching Sam’s attention. He zeroed in on Anthony’s face, but then he noticed the girl he was standing next to. It was Jessica’s cousin, Jenna. He had only met her once, as she didn’t often make the trip to Stanford, and when Jess went home, it was to Santa Cruz, not to Lake Arrowhead. But he had met her once, and seeing her now brought back a whirlwind of memories – something he hadn’t expected from California, but probably should have. Since he arrived he had felt a desperate nostalgia for what could have been. It fostered an empty feeling in chest.

Before he could think about what he was doing, he ran to his laptop, searching for Jenna. He tried Jenna Moore, but found no results. No – she was probably married. His mind wandered for a moment, before staring back at the picture. She was wearing a green apron in the photo. Was she a barista? No, no, no. She had gone to college. He dropped the photo as he got an idea and ran out the door to the blue corvette he had purchased under the identity of Richard Morris.

 

H E L L

She paced back and forth as she contemplated how to get Crowley back to hell – and dead. Scores of demons huddled around her, some trembling, others grinning from ear to ear. It had been ages since there had been a knight of hell in their presence. They felt unworthy, but were eager to please. Abaddon glanced up as a different demon joined them, someone she had sent to draw the Winchesters in.

“Dean has arrived, but Sam is nowhere in sight,” the demon reported. A wry grin formed on Abaddon’s face as she threw her head back in shrill laughter.

“The Winchester boy is so recklessly stupid,” she spoke, the words spewing like venom from her shining red lips. Her eyes shot toward the loyal servant before her. “Let’s go then, shall we?” He nodded in reverence to the queen of hell and they were on their way. The young demon was loyal to Abaddon, never actually knowing Crowley. He was still fresh meat, and Abaddon truly had no intentions of keeping him past his useful purposes.

They arrived in Surfside, Texas, standing beside the water. The Gulf of Mexico was far from the prettiest beach, but Abaddon, despite her stone cold heart, had a taste for aesthetic beauty. She stared out to the horizon, ignoring her loyal companion for a moment. It took him questioning her for her attention to turn away from the ocean. “Lead the way,” she encouraged.

 

S U R F S I D E , T E X A S

Back at the motel, Dean noticed through the window the redheaded maid from earlier that morning dancing around as she vacuumed his room. He had forgotten to put up the “do not disturb” sign again, and he could only hope that she hadn’t found anything incriminating. Of course, she didn’t look as if she had. She seemed a free spirit, just Dean’s type honestly. But Dean couldn’t help but curse at himself for forgetting the sign – it was a mistake Sam would never have made.

A sad smile formed on Dean’s lips at the thought of his little brother, and he wondered where he was. He reached for his phone, considering calling him, but thinking better of it. Sticking his phone back in his pocket, Dean stared through the window at the maid, nodding in confirmation to himself, before walking through the door.

The redhead was startled as he walked through the door, but laughter quickly escaped from her lips. She pulled the earbuds from her ears and shook her head. “You scared the shit out of me!” She cursed, and it was like music to Dean’s ears. Her sweet voice, her body language, that tiny little expletive. He chuckled, raising his eyebrows.

“I should say the same. I wasn’t expectin’ anyone to be in my room when I got back,” he said, loosening his tie. He shimmied out of his blazer and watched with delight as she eyed him.

“I – uh, sorry. I can go?” she pointed toward the door, taking a half step toward it. Dean rolled his sleeves up, tilting his head to the side, and then asked for her name. “Um – Rylee. Rylee Jackson.” Dean nodded slowly, a smirk forming on his lips.

“And how much longer are you on your shift, Rylee?” Her eyes grew wide as she bit her lip, indicating that his room was actually the last one on her sweep. Dean shrugged. “In that case…” he walked toward the mini refrigerator and pulled out two beers. “Care to stick around?”

Rylee shrugged, pulling her hair down from the ponytail and plopped down in the chair beside the desk. She didn’t even try to be discreet as she unbuttoned the top button of her blouse. Dean’s heart skipped a beat as he put the beer in her hand, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He faced her. “You from around here?” he asked, pointing out the window.

“Born and raised,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “You mind if I use the little girl’s room?” Dean shrugged, motioning toward the bathroom.

“Help yourself, sweetie.” Rylee stood up and walked to the bathroom, turning and blowing Dean a kiss before she walked in. Dean raised his eyebrows. He wasn’t sure exactly what was going on… but there was a beautiful girl in his motel room who had gone from concerned to obviously flirty in a matter of seconds – and he wasn’t complaining.

 

P A R I S , F R A N C E

Chelsea was an exchange student in Paris, who was, quite frankly, not ready for Paris life. Her speech was far from accurate, and her writing may have been even worse. But she was making the best of it, because she had escaped. She had escaped from her abusive father and alcoholic mother and addicted brother. She was on the other side of the planet, and was adapting as well as she could possibly hope. But part of her yearned for the USA, and so she took to internet chat rooms.

That was where she met the funny man named Castiel. She was sure it was a fake name, but she couldn’t complain. He was interesting and overwhelmingly hilarious. And his blue eyes were to die for. She had seen them in pictures he sent her. She had to walk him through every step of the picture taking process because he was utterly clueless. It was actually quite cute. But once he figured it out, he was sending her pictures left and right. He sent her a picture of the ocean, of his foot, of a peanut butter and jelly. And she laughed hysterically.

They started talking on the phone and, despite being in a foreign country, away from anyone who could protect her, she decided that she wanted to meet him. He had become her best friend. So Castiel promised that he would come see her. And today was the day. She stood in the mirror, trying to tame her unruly hair. It was sweltering in her bathroom and the sweat on her face was making her make up run. She was ready to cry when she heard a tap tap tap on the door. What a gentle knock. For a moment, she panicked. Why did she agree to meet him at her apartment? What if he was a psycho killer? But she calmed her nerves, tucking a knife in her back pocket – just in case. Her fingers traced underneath her eyes, wiping off the excess eyeliner.

“Coming!” she hollered as she rustled toward the door. When she spun it open she was met face to face with a man in a trench coat. She should have found this strange and discomforting, but for some reason it was nothing but amusing to her. His tie was on backwards as well. She let out a genuine laugh, taking a step back. “Come in!”

Castiel walked through the door, puzzled at her laughter. He hadn’t done anything funny. His blue orbs looked around her apartment. It was tidy, but still obviously lived in. Chelsea smelled of the chemical molecules in perfume, which he assumed should have smelled good, but actually made him slightly uncomfortable. And she was young, pure, and innocent – a virgin. She ushered him to the couch, and he sat down, smiling at her. “Hello, Chelsea,” he said, his voice low, as he nodded politely.

Chelsea’s nerves were on end as she found the seat next to him, sitting indian style on her couch. “Hi, Cas!” she said, her voice a little more excited than she had intended for it to sound. “Can I call you that?” Castiel nodded.

“Yes, a friend that I’m very… fond of… calls me that.” Chelsea raised an eyebrow, trying to remember if they had ever discussed any of Castiel’s friends. They had actually.

“Who? Dean?” Castiel smiled at the mention of his dear friend and nodded, pushing the thoughts of the mark out of his mind. Chelsea resituated herself, flipping on the TV. “Want something to drink?” Cas nodded a confirmation. Chelsea walked into her kitchen, opening the fridge. “I have beer and Sprite… or I can make Margaritas.” Castiel joined her in the kitchen, leaning against the counter.

“Margaritas?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Chelsea turned and looked at him.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never had a Margarita.” Cas shrugged and Chelsea let out a laugh.

“Margaritas it is. Hand me that bottle of liquor behind you, would ya?”

 

L A K E A R R O W H E A D , C A L I F O R N I A

“Uh, yeah… I need a… trim,” Sam said, as he stared at the receptionist at Green Valley Salon. There were mostly upper class women and young children in the salon and they were all staring at him with slight trepidation. He glanced around looking at the stylists in green aprons looking for that one familiar face. “Actually, is Jenna here?” The receptionist looked up at Sam, raising an eyebrow.

“Jenna? No, she’s off today. She’ll be in tomorrow. But Gabby can take care of your – mane,” the receptionist smirked as a blonde-haired stylist walked up behind her. Her nametag read ‘Gabby’. Sam looked back and forth between the two, a puzzled look on his face.

“Does Jenna still live toward the top of the mountain? In her parent’s cabin?” The receptionist and stylist made wary glances at each other. They both shrugged, as if to say, ‘Jenna has never mentioned you and we will not give out any such information’. Sam sighed and pulled out his wallet. He pulled out a picture of himself and Jess, obviously worn down from the wear and tear that his wallet had been through. His breath hitched in his throat as he saw the picture. When he unfolded it, it proved to be himself, Jess, Jenna, and a boy that Jenna had been dating at the time named Sean. He slid it across the counter.

“I was going to marry this girl,” he said, pointing at Jess, “I mean before she… passed on. Her name was Jessica Moore… and this,” he continued, pointing at Jenna, “is Jenna Moore, Jessica’s cousin.” The receptionist nodded politely, pursing her lips. Death was awkward and most people didn’t quite know what to say. But Sam was used to the ache in his chest, almost entirely numb to it. “Look, I’m not looking for pity,” he said, his eyebrows scrunching together. “I’m just looking for Jenna. I’d like to see her again.”

Gabby pulled out her phone and gave Sam Jenna’s cell phone number. “She’s with her daughter today, so she may not answer. And the boy in that picture? She married him. She’s Jenna Wyatt now.” Sam nodded, thanking Gabby as he imagined dinners with the Winchesters and the Wyatts… something that would never be. He forced himself not to think of these things.

In the car he dialed her cell number, but as expected, reached her voicemail. He hung up, choosing not to leave her a message. He could just search for her address now that he knew her last name and cell phone number. And that’s exactly what he did.

When he arrived outside of her house he felt a wave of nausea wash over him. He imagined Jessica sitting in the car next to him, squealing about getting to see her cousin for the first time in ages. And he would have smiled at her and squeezed her hand lightly. They would have walked up to the door, rang the doorbell. And when Jenna opened the door Jess and Jenna would squeal as the wrapped each other in their arms. Sean would walk up behind Jess, making eye contact with Sam as they shook hands. And Sam would smile and nod when he offered him a beer. He chewed his lip until he drew blood thinking about such fantasies. But he had to stop.

He approached the door, ringing the doorbell, and a young blonde came to the door. She actually looked a lot like he would have expected Jess and his children to look like. He smiled, stooping down to the youngster’s level. “Hi, there. Is your mommy home?” The girl looked up at him with big eyes and nodded, calling for her mommy. When Jenna arrived in the door Sam stood up, his eyes meeting with hers. “Hi, Jenna.”

“S – Sam?” She was puzzled and sadness immediately filled her eyes. I mean, it was obvious that Sam’s presence would bring back memories of her cousin. But Sam hadn’t accounted for the fact that he had disappeared directly after the fire. He didn’t attend Jessica’s funeral. He didn’t even call any of her family. In fact, her family had suspected that Sam had murdered her. Jenna pulled her daughter back behind her, shooing her into the living room. She stepped out onto the front porch, closing the door behind her. And it was obvious in that moment that this would not be a long overdue reunion, but a chance for close scrutiny. “What are you doing here, Sam?” she snapped. Sam raised his eyebrows.

“I – I just wanted to come and say… how sorry I am that I didn’t make it to…” Sam scratched the back of his head, fighting back his tears. “The funeral… was it nice?” Jenna stared at him in utter astonishment. Was he serious?

“Sam, it’s been damn near a decade. We never saw you or heard from you after she passed. You weren’t the one to call us when she … when … it was your apartment! We shouldn’t have heard from the fire marshall! We should have heard from you!” Jenna began to sob as Sam chewed his lip.

“I was in a bad place, Jenna… my dad had just gone missing… and then Jess. And all I had was my brother and he was leaving… I – I didn’t know what to do,” he said, his voice cracking as he looked down at his feet. This was not how he had imagined their reunion. A sharp sting across his face, startled him as he glared at the woman who had just backhanded him.

“You call her family, you jackass! That’s what you’re supposed to do! You show up at her funeral!” Jenna remained silent as sobs racked her body. Then she met his eyes. “She thought you were going to propose to her – that it was just a matter of time,” she whispered. “She thought that you loved her…” Sam drew in a sharp breath.

“I did love her, Jenna! I had a ring… I still have it. I was going to propose on her birthday.” Sam met Jenna’s eyes as tears fell down his face. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.” Jenna fell into Sam’s arms, sobbing, and Sam welcomed the warmth of another human being, especially one that had blood relation to Jessica. He regretted coming to California, but this was long needed closure. He cried, really cried, like hadn’t cried since he had lost her. The only thing that stopped them was the opening of the front door.

“Mommy?” the young voice said. Jenna pulled away, wiping her tears. “What’s the matter, Mommy?” the little curly-haired blonde said as she pulled against her mother’s pants. “Did the scary man hurt you?” Jenna laughed.

“Heaven’s no, Jessie. I’m coming inside now.” Jenna’s eyes met Sam’s, who was processing that Jenna had named her daughter after Jess. “You coming?” Sam nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat as he stepped through the threshold. “Jessie, say hello to Sam. He was friends with cousin Jess.” Friends; the word was not nearly enough to constitute what Jessica Lee Moore meant to him, but he didn’t object. He shook Jessie’s hand.

“You look a lot like cousin Jess,” he said, smiling at the young girl.

“You look a lot like the hobo down the street. Maybe Mommy can cut your hair so you look clean,” Jessie said matter-of-factly. Sam raised his eyebrows, a natural chuckle coming out of his mouth as he looked up at Jenna. Jessie was exactly like Jess. Such an honest sense of humor.

“Really, Sam. Why the fuck is your hair so long?” Jenna said after Jessie ran out of the room. Sam leaned against the kitchen table, shrugging.

“Haven’t had time to visit a barber shop, I guess…” Jenna laughed, putting a beer in Sam’s hand.

“Let me cut it? Jess would just have a heart attack if she saw you.” Sam nodded, taking a sip of the beer. And she was right. Jess would have a heart attack if she saw him today. Jess wouldn’t even know who she was seeing. He was not the same Sam he had been at twenty-two… and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make himself feel the same things that he had felt back then. He was young and dumb and full of love. And now? He felt older with every passing second. His bones ached from years of motel beds and sleeping in the passenger seat of the Impala. And the pain in his heart was an average thing – something that he had learned to live with as if it was a recurring paper cut. He knew he would never be the same again.

 

S U R F S I D E , T E X A S

A few beers in the wind and Dean was laying on his bed beneath the now shirtless Rylee Jackson. He reached behind her, fumbling with the clasp on her bra as he licked his lips. Van Halen played through the radio speakers in the motel room and Rylee grinded against him in time with the song. As he freed her breasts, his calloused hands reached up to grope them. Rylee brought her lips to Dean’s, her tongue sliding across his lips, beckoning him to open up. Dean obeyed her gentle direction, sliding his tongue against hers. His hands found his way down her torso to the belt loops on the pants she was wearing. He hooked his thumbs in them, pulling her closer to him.

Rylee’s red fingernails moved quickly down Dean’s chest as she eloquently unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off of him. Dean sat up to help her remove it from his arms, pressing his chest against hers in the process. She was warm, warmer than he was, and it was unusual in Dean’s experience. But he wasn’t complaining. Deft hands found the button on her pants and undid them effortlessly. Rylee balanced herself on her hands and feet, hovering over Dean as he pushed her pants down. She stepped out of each leg, tossing the clothing to the floor.

Dean took the opportunity to take charge, rolling over on top of Rylee. His lips trailed from her lips to the hollow of her neck. He nibbled at her collar bone as he continued to work his way down her chest, made light circles around her belly button. His mouth hovered over her womanhood, panting hot air against her panty-clad lady parts. He flicked his tongue against her lower lips, feeling the wetness through her underwear. Overcome with lust he shimmied her out of her underwear, burying his face in her flower. Rylee arched her back, pulling at Dean’s hair, scratching his shoulders harder than he had expected, as Dean brought her closer and closer to orgasm. His tongue flicked ferociously against her bud as his fingers made a ‘come-here’ motion deep inside of her. Rylee’s moans echoed in Dean’s ear, coaching him to continue. As her legs began to shake, her body spasmed, Rylee tried to pull away from Dean’s skillful tongue. But Dean wrapped his arms around her legs, pulling her back to him.

“Dean! Dean!” she hollered, her voice getting higher pitched with every cry, her face getting redder and redder. She could not contain the pleasure within her as she shook in delight. And Dean’s cock grew impossibly harder, pressing uncomfortably against the denim of his jeans. “Please, Dean! Dear God!” she continued to scream, squirming against him as her sweet nectar escaped from her body. Dean lapped up every drop, pulling away from her as he panted.

He was ready to remove his jeans when he looked in her eyes and had to jump backwards. He reached for the flask behind him. “You bitch,” he said, nearly growling as he looked at the red-headed, black-eyed being laying in his bed. He was prepared to douse her with holy water when the door busted open. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, rolling his eyes, despite the fact that his heart was racing. His sex was still throbbing and he was vulnerable. Where the hell did he put that First Blade? FUCK. It was in the Impala.

Rylee jumped off of the bed, eager to please her new mistress. She was still entirely naked and Abaddon smiled at her body before turning her attention to Dean’s obvious erection. With the flick of her wrist, Dean was pinned against the wall, grunting in obvious pain. And he was mad that his own body had betrayed him… that his dick had yet to go limp, but was only pulsing more with each passing second. Abaddon approached him slowly, her heels clicking across the floor.

When she reached him, she grabbed hold of his chin, her rep lips parting as her tongue made her way to his lips. Dean clamped his mouth shut in an effort to avoid even more demon tongue. Abaddon laughed, pulling at his jeans, as she popped the button off.

“Now, now, Dean… let’s play nice, shall we?” Dean narrowed his eyes at Abaddon, considering spitting in her face but deciding better of it. When he opened his mouth to speak, Abaddon forced her tongue into his mouth. Try as Dean might to resist it, her lips pressed against his and her hand now groping his cock had him incredibly hot and bothered. He shook his head, trying to pull away from her.

“Rylee,” Abaddon said, stepping away from Dean, but leaving him pinned against the wall. “Show Mr. Winchester what a demon girl can do.” Dean struggled against the forces holding him against the wall, making eye contact with Abaddon as Rylee dropped to her knees in front of him. She pulled his pants off of him and then his boxers, her mouth hovering inches from his still hard cock. As her lips wrapped around the head of his member, Dean groaned in a mixture of pleasure and disdain.

“Get your whore mouth off of me,” he growled. But Rylee continued and Abaddon’s laugh echoed through the room.

“Such a feisty little thing, Dean,” she said, as she pulled back Rylee’s hair and guided her further down his shaft. Dean’s body tensed up. He wanted to reject the pleasure, but he could not resist it as she took all of him into his mouth. Abaddon traced her fingernails over Dean’s tattoo, reminding him of what she had told him before.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he managed to mutter between his groans. He hadn’t felt someone truly deepthroat him since… well, it had been a long time. He was finding it harder and harder to fight off his animalistic instincts. Abaddon’s lips hovered just over Dean’s ear, her fingernails still scratching at his tattoo.

“You didn’t give me Crowley when I asked you for him… you remember what I said I’d do, don’t you?” Dean’s hips bucked against Rylee’s face as he tried to jerk himself away from Abaddon unsuccessfully. Abaddon grabbed Dean by his hair, forcing him to look at her. “You see I’m in a good mood today, Winchester,” she muttered, nodding toward Rylee who was still continuously sucking on Dean’s throbbing member. “You tell me where Crowley is and I’ll leave you to Rylee.” Dean sighed.

“I don’t know,” he answered, defeated. Abaddon stepped back and slapped him hard across the face. His vision blurred for a moment as his body was tingling with all sorts of sensations.

“Where. Is. He?” Abaddon asked again. Dean shook his head, his body starting to spasm as he felt himself closer and closer to orgasm.

“I said, I don’t know!” he yelled as his eyes clamped shut and he rolled his head back. Abaddon’s fingers squeezing against his throat made him shoot his eyes back open. He couldn’t breathe, and yet Rylee was still going and he was going to explode. He tried to gasp for air to no avail. His fingers dug into the wall behind him as he writhed against the mixture of pleasure and pain.

“Don’t lie to me, Winchester,” she said, biting at the space behind his ear. Dean’s body jerked as Abaddon stepped back and he let himself go into Rylee’s mouth, panting and moaning and cursing himself for feeling such pleasure from a demon whore.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Dean,” Abaddon said as Rylee moved away from Dean’s now limp cock. “Good boys don’t cum without permission.”

“Go to hell,” Dean grunted as he recovered from his orgasm. Abaddon threw her head back in shrill laughter.

“I’ve been, Dean. Perhaps I should take you with me?” She stepped closer and trailed her finger across his lips, down his chest and grabbing hold of his sensitive manhood, jerking him violently. Dean squirmed and grunted, refusing to look into her eyes.

“Castiel!” he screamed, hoping that his angel companion could hear him.

 

P A R I S , F R A N C E

Margaritas were better than Castiel had expected, and Chelsea was obviously feeling the effects from them. Her cheeks were now rosy pink and she had made a habit of pushing lightly against Cas’s chest every time she laughed. When she went to grab another drink and nearly stumbled over the coffee table, Cas grabbed her by the waist, catching her. He sat her down on the Cas.

“You should be more careful,” he instructed. Chelsea laughed, leaning her face in closer to Castiel’s. Her lips met the flesh beneath his ear as she nipped playfully at his earlobe. This made Cas feel slightly uncomfortable. Chelsea was young and impressionable and he didn’t want to ruin her perception of him.

“You’re not the boss of me,” she whispered, her words slurring together a bit. Cas pulled back, grabbing her shoulders and looking into Chelsea’s eyes.

“You are not thinking clearly, Chelsea,” Castiel said softly. Chelsea scrutinized Castiel’s face, not understanding if he was rejecting her or if he was just indicating that they should wait. She knew that Castiel was older than she was. She could tell by his demeanor and the lines on his face when he smiled. But that didn’t matter. She was a legal, consenting adult and she could make her own decisions. Her hands cupped either side of Castiel’s face.

“I’m thinking juss’ fine,” she said as she pressed her lips to his. Castiel was going to pull away, was going to tell her that this was not okay… but she was beautiful and sweet and kind. He broke his lips from hers, pressing his forehead against hers.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” he asked, taking in every feature of her face.

“Extra specially sure,” Chelsea responded, meshing her lips back into his. In a matter of seconds she was straddling him on top of her couch, pulling desperately at her own clothing. Castiel had already removed his trench coat and pulled his tie from his neck. He sat up and kissed at Chelsea’s neck, overtaken by lust – and perhaps even budding love. He knew Chelsea very well. Maybe not as well as he knew Dean, but still.

“Bed,” he muttered against the hollow of her neck. She pointed to a hallway and Castiel lifted her up, carrying her to the room. He threw her onto the bed, climbing over her as he removed the rest of their clothing, littering the floor. His lips met hers with fervent passion and his fingers roamed over her body. And though he had already asked if she was sure, he had to ask again.

With the head of his manhood lined up with the entrance to her womanhood, he stared down at her, lips slightly parted. “Chelsea,” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly.

“Yes, Cas?” she answered in desperation. She just wanted to feel him buried inside of her. She had never wanted anything as badly as she wanted him in that moment.

“Last chance,” he mumbled, moving his face closer to hers. Chelsea closed the distance between their lips, sucking his tongue into her mouth.

“Do it,” she whispered as she pulled away from him. And with those two words, he pushed his way into her untouched womanhood. He didn’t think about how he would be letting down his Father. It wasn’t a thought that frequently crossed his mind anymore anyway. Instead he hoped that he didn’t hurt her. She was very tight and he suspected that she would bleed. She threw her head back, clamped her eyes closed and a light moan escaped from her lips as she felt his large sex stretched hers open. It hurt, but she was so pleased for Castiel to be the one who she gave her body to.

As they found a rhythm, their kisses and moans and thrusts synced with each other. They rolled around in the bed, changing positions, kissing and touching all over each other. At some point, after they had toe-curling moments of sensual passion, Castiel brought a wet towel for Chelsea to wipe her bloodied private parts with. Chelsea cleaned herself up and then delivered sweet kisses all over Castiel’s body. They lay together, legs intertwined, as Castiel ran his fingers through her hair. Chelsea was just drifting off to sleep when Cas jolted up.

“I have to go,” he said, panicked. Chelsea looked at him in confusion, feeling used and rejected.

“Wh – where? Right now?” Cas sighed, kissing her softly. “Dean’s in trouble. I must go now.” He quickly clothed himself, while Chelsea watched him, puzzled.

“How do you know? He’s in America for God’s sake! You’ll never make it in time even if he’s in trouble,” Chelsea rambled. Castiel shot her a warning glance.

“There’s no time to explain, Chelsea. I’ll call you.” And just like that Castiel was gone. Chelsea actually watched him disappear right before her eyes. She blinked a few times, trying to confirm that she had actually seen someone disappear, but her mind refused to process it. She glanced around the room looking for signs that he had even been here. She wandered to the living room to find his margarita still sitting on the table, his tie still laying over the back of the couch.

“What the fuck?”

 

S U R F S I D E , T E X A S

Abaddon was in hysterical laughter as she continued to taunt and toy with Dean. “You calling on your little boyfriend so soon? And here I thought you were hetero. I mean… if you’d prefer cock, I’m sure Colton here wouldn’t mind helping you out,” she teased as she motioned toward the young demon who had been a silent observer since she had arrived. Colton winked at Dean, who growled in disgust.

“We just gonna have a big ol’ demon orgy or are you gonna kill me, Abby?” Dean smirked at his nickname for Abaddon, but she didn’t seem to find it amusing. She flicked her wrist, slamming dean onto the bed, his head beating against the headboard. He groaned as he tried to regain his vision through the searing headache.

“That’s not my name,” she replied. Dean rolled his eyes, immediately regretting it, as it only added to the pounding in his head. He was still naked and he longed desperately to be clothed. How was he ever going to get to the First Blade in this situation? And from the looks of things, Castiel wasn’t coming any time soon.

“Now, where the hell is Crowley?” Abaddon howled as she took Dean’s balls into her hands and started squeezing. At first it was almost pleasurable, but the longer Dean went without answering, the tighter her grip got. She began to dig her nails in as Dean winced in pain.

“Last I saw him he was drinking his sorrows away in a dusty old motel room in Wyoming,” Dean said, gritting his teeth through the pain.

“Oh?” Abaddon answered, loosening her grip and massaging softly now. Dean groaned, rolling his head back. Abaddon’s eyes zeroed in on Dean’s arm as it flexed. He was gripping the sheets and suddenly something became very visible to her. “The mark of Cain!?” She grabbed his arm, looking closer at it. “How the hell – damn it!” She turned around, trying to regain her composure. Dean was no good to her as a pile of mush on the floor. “Leave us,” she ordered to the two demons. Rylee began scrambling for her clothes, but Abaddon interrupted her. “NOW!” In a matter of seconds they were alone. Abaddon turned back to Dean.

“That’s right, bitch. The mark of Cain,” Dean answered, the arrogance in his voice finally returning. Abaddon backhanded him across the face.

“Shut up!” She paced back and forth. “Where is the First Blade?” Her eyes were black as night now, unable to conceal her demonistic qualities when she was in a real rage. Dean chuckled, shrugging his shoulders.

“Last I saw Crowley he was searching for it, but couldn’t find it. Like I said, he was drinking his sorrows away in an old motel room. See, I knew I shouldn’t have trusted a demon to get my work done for me… but Crowley seemed to have a bit more of an advantage to finding it than I did.” A burst of light outside the window took both of their attention toward the door which had been flung open by a blue eyed angel in a trench coat.

Castiel stared at Dean lying naked in the bed only for a moment when he looked back at Abaddon. “You should be going now,” he said through gritted teeth. Abaddon glanced back and forth between the two and then smiled wryly. She clenched her fist together and Dean immediately began to writhe in pain. She was breaking each of his ribs with her mind. Castiel ran at her, ready to tear her limb from limb. He drew the angel blade and cut off her fist, releasing Dean from his mental bindings. Dean jumped up, throwing on the robe that he had draped over the back of the chair. He ran out the door to the trunk of the Impala, not stopping to stare at the lifeless bodies of Colton and Rylee on the ground.

He popped open the trunk, pulled the First Blade from the pile of weapons, and ran confidently back into the motel room. Abaddon was on top of Cas, slashing at his skin with her extra sharp fingernails. The mark on Dean’s arm burned as he wasn’t used to carrying the weight of the mark of Cain in combination with the First Blade. “Hey, bitch!” he screamed, catching her attention. “Eat this,” he swung the blade at her throat with full force, severing her head from her shoulders – for the second time.

But when Abaddon was lifeless on the ground, Dean fell to the floor beside her, writhing in pain. His arm was glowing red hot and his head was pounding. He began seizing as Castiel ran to his side.

“Dean! Dean!” Cas put his hand to Dean’s forehead, trying to cure whatever was ailing him, but he couldn’t stop the tremors. He held Dean’s head in his lap until the shaking subsided. But Dean was unconscious, and despite Castiel’s best efforts, he couldn’t wake up. So he drove him to the hospital.

 

L A K E A R R O W H E A D , C A L I F O R N I A

“I feel like my head just lost twenty pounds,” Sam laughed as he looked in the mirror at his hair cut. He actually looked and felt a bit younger and jovial. Now if he could just get the stubble off his face, maybe he could be a new man. Jenna laughed, taking the handheld mirror from him and placing it back in her box of home supplies.

“You look a lot better, too.” Sam stood up, turning to Jenna, a smile running across his face.

“Thanks for letting me explain. After all this time, I really needed this – closure.” Sam straightened his clothing. “I guess I should get going.” He held out his arms to hug her and she accepted warm-heartedly. He said goodbye to Jessie and walked out the door, not even looking back at the house. What’s past is past, he reminded himself. As he was driving back to the motel, he pulled out his phone to dial Garth. He needed to tell him what he had discovered about Anthony from Jenna, but suddenly he had a trench coated passenger in his car. He jumped.

“Fuck, Cas! You ever heard of a phone call?” Sam shot him a condescending glance as his heart returned to a normal pace.

“Dean’s in trouble, Sam.” Sam gripped the steering wheel tighter, eyes focused on the road. He didn’t want Castiel to see the concern on his face.

“What’s the matter?” he answered, dryly. Cas sighed, touching Sam’s shoulder.

“He’s unconscious, in the hospital… Abaddon is dead.” Sam slammed on the brakes, tires squealing on the pavement as he pulled the car off the road. He turned to Castiel.

“What?” Sam tilted his head, trying to process what Castiel had just told him. Abaddon was dead and Dean was… unconscious? Or in a coma? “What are the doctors saying?” Castiel pursed his lips.

“They’re saying his brain is dead.” Sam shook his head, cupping his jaw in the palm of his hand.

“No… no, Cas… I – take me to him.” Castiel nodded, touching Sam’s forehead and transporting them to Texas. Castiel had gained most his angelic strength back, as had many of the other angels. But healing powers seemed minimal to nonexistent, at least for Cas. He and Sam stood over Dean’s bed, and Castiel cursed himself for being unable to stop what was happening. He looked to Sam, who had not looked away from Dean’s body since they had arrived. Tears were rolling endlessly down his face, and Castiel reached out his hand to touch his shoulder.

Sam still didn’t look up, even at the touch of Castiel’s hand. It didn’t make sense that he could fly but couldn’t heal. It just didn’t. He grabbed Dean’s hand, squeezing it, not even bothering to wipe the tears from his eyes. They splattered against the hospital sheets Dean was lying on.

“Are you Sam?” the doctor asked as she stepped through the door, clipboard in hand. Finally Sam looked up, nodding solemnly at the woman. She gave him a sad smile as she opened Dean’s file.

“Your brother had a prolonged seizure. Your friend here,” she said, nodding toward Cas, “did a good job protecting his head from injuries and keeping him from swallowing his tongue.” Cas gave a small smile, feeling as if he had been inadequate. “But your brother’s brain has very minimal activity. He most likely won’t wake up. Is there any other family you’d like to call?”

Sam shook his head. “No, thank you, doctor.” She nodded and turned to leave the room.

“I’ll give you some time.” Sam continued to nod. Memories flooded his mind. When he was six years old Dean had taken him to see the fireworks in town on the Fourth of July since Dad hadn’t come home. They watched as the colorful bombs bursted over their heads. And when Sam brought home a report card with straight A’s, Dean forged John’s signature, who didn’t come home for the next week, congratulating Sam. And how they traded their own Christmas presents as children. And how Dean had done everything in his power to protect Sam. He remember how often he had let his brother down. Time and time again he had taken the wrong path, and time and time again Dean had forgiven him. He remembered the spiteful voicemail that Dean had left him before he killed Lilith, but how Dean had come to save him anyway. Painful memory after painful memory until he was on his knees, beating his hands against the ground and howling at the sky.

“Goddamnit, why! Why? Why? …. No… nonononono, no… please God. Please, God, no.” Castiel watched as Sam crumbled to pieces before his eyes and he felt the tears well up in his own eyes. He looked up at the sky, cursing heaven in his mind for allowing mankind to experience such pain. Castiel leaned over Dean, cupping his face in his hands.

“Dean… Dean if you can hear me. Dean, I need you to wake up. Wake up, Dean. I need you. Sam needs you. Dean… Dean, please,” Castiel begged. He shook Dean’s head in his hands. “Dean, I – I love you. And I don’t want to live in a world where you don’t exist.” Cas pressed his lips against Dean’s as a single teardrop rolled down his face. But nothing happened. Not even a blip in the monitor. Castiel turned to Sam, who hadn’t even seen Castiel kiss Dean in his utter despair.

“Sammy,” Cas said, touching the back of Sam’s head. “Sam, please stop crying. I need you to think, Sam. How do we fix this?” Sam looked up at Cas, shaking his head.

“I don’t think we can… I don’t think we can fix this… I don’t know how to…”

“C-Cas?” A familiar voice rang through the room, causing Castiel to spin around and Sam to jump to his feet. “Sam,” Dean breathed, trying to sit up.

“Whoa, whoa – take it easy,” Sam said, pushing gently against Dean’s shoulder to keep him down. Dean glanced at Cas, who was staring at Dean with eyes full of love and passion. He raised an eyebrow.

“You alright, Cas?” Cas nodded, pursing his lips and reveling in the fact that he had just kissed Dean – even if Dean didn’t know. Dean looked at Sam who had puffy red eyes. “Were you cryin’, little brother?” Dean didn’t even think about the words as they rolled off his tongue. He didn’t give a damn if Sam didn’t want to be brothers. He couldn’t give a flying fuck. Sam was his little brother and if he had a problem with it he could excuse himself from the room immediately.

But a smile spread across Sam’s face as more tears fell from his face. He nodded slowly. “I thought we had lost you, Dean. I didn’t know what to do… I – I couldn’t,” Sam swallowed the lump in his throat. “It’s good to have you back, big brother.” Dean smiled back. He had called him ‘big brother’.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?” Sam wanted to say ‘no’, but he knew that he was. It was too late to turn his back. This was Dean, and he had nearly died trying to do right – just like every other damn time.

“You’re forgiven… but seriously, no more saving my ass.” Dean chuckled and shrugged.

“Sometimes I can’t help it.” Cas chuckled, followed by Sam, and then by Dean. When Dean laughed, he groaned in pain. “God, that bitch broke my ribs.” Sam raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah, congratulations on killing Abaddon, Dean. I didn’t think you had it in ya’.” Dean gave Sam a ‘shove it’ look.

“You’re the big wimp, Sam. But at least you look more like a man now. I dig the haircut. It’s about damn time.” Sam scoffed as he pressed the button for the nurse. When the nurse came in she was astonished that Dean was awake, she turned to get the doctor, but Sam stopped her.

“Before y’all go to poking and prodding, make sure he gets some morphine. My brother just saved the world – again.” The nurse looked at Sam, puzzled for a moment. But she nodded and set him up on a drip.

Cas and Sam waited in the lobby as they ran some additional tests on Dean. Sam had fallen asleep when the doctor came out to say that they could go back. Cas let Sam continue to sleep, making his way to Dean’s ICU room. He opened the door and sat down next to Dean, taking his hand in his. He didn’t speak to Dean, who was still sleeping from the heavy morphine drip, just held his hand tight.

Dean opened his eyes, feeling Castiel’s hand on his. A small smile formed on his lips. “Hey, Cas?” Castiel looked down at Dean.

“Yes, Dean?” He licked his lips.

“I love you, too.”


End file.
